


Below a Static TV Set

by t0talcha0s



Series: LSPM Universe [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, POV Roxy, Strippers & Strip Clubs, but it's still pretty damn vague, but that's implied if you read the rest of it, drug mention, lots of talking about their past, sex mention, the title's from a different song this time tho, this fic relies on the assumed fact that you've read the rest, tons of past relationships i don't feel like tagging, which is laid out in 'Roses With No Petals'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4264665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conversation flows easily, even when neither of you are on the same page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Below a Static TV Set

**Author's Note:**

> There are no stories told in a vacuum  
> There is no prophecy lighting our way  
> There is just a lot of darkness to be afraid of  
> So it’s a good thing we are not afraid  
> There is no Superman in that phone booth  
> There is no rewarding our faith  
> There is no one who can save us  
> So it’s a good thing we don’t need to be saved  
> There are no starships in low earth orbit  
> No aliens to save us from ourselves  
> There is no voice willing to speak for us  
> So it’s a good thing we know how to yell  
> There is no chosen one, no destiny, no fate  
> There is no such thing as magic  
> There is no light at the end of this tunnel  
> So it’s a good thing we brought matches  
> -Matches. Sifu Hotman
> 
> I say just what I’m thinking and second guess instantly  
> And you laugh at me  
> We stick to our slow motion memory  
> It’s 1 in the morning and 90 degrees  
> And though now it is hovering darkly over me  
> It’ll look just like heaven when I get up and leave  
> You’re a ghost and I can’t breathe  
> \- Catfish, Waxahatchee
> 
> And I find it kinda funny  
> I find it kinda sad  
> The dreams in which I’m dying  
> Are the best I’ve ever had  
> I find it hard to tell you  
> I find it hard to take  
> \- Mad World, Gary Jules

Your makeup’s running terribly and you’re confused as to how Dirk is still wearing his shades when it’s so dark and rain clouds even your vision. His wet skin shines and you wonder if your own exposed arms gleam and shine like that in this light. The obnoxious fluorescent street lights making his too thin features look all the sharper and more regal then sickly. His cheekbones look like knives and his jaw looks dangerous. The V-neck shirt he’s wearing falling off a too skinny shoulder and clinging to his emaciated frame with its wetness. You wonder if he’ll even be able to peel those skinny jeans off. Your crop top clings to your chest and your shorts sag with the wet weight of them.

“You know where we should go?” Dirk says, and you don’t bother to look at him as the two of you sludge your way through the night rain.

“Where?” You know, he’s predictable.

“The roof of the abandoned seven eleven. From back when you and I and.” He cuts himself off, he knows you don’t like talking about what happened to Calliope, yet the knowledge drums against your forehead like a migraine. “It’s just a couple blocks left.” You nod, take his hand in yours, and turn left. People inside the stores or cars or apartments look at you two like you’re crazy. Maybe you are, maybe you both are, but you are together, and that just makes it better. And worse. His hair droops from its usual militant spikes and it begins to curl like you know he despises. When his skin rubs against yours it catches and slides, slick from rain, and it’s a sensation that causes goosebumps every time. You look over at him, you recognize that shirt as Jake’s. You frown.

“Do you ever think about it?”

“Think about what?” He replies.

“Everyone we’ve met, everything we’ve done, who we are.” He sighs, as a car whips beside you two, hydroplaning, and he turns, throwing his arms out so all the water hits his back and not you. He grimaces as his hair slaps against his neck.

“Yes.” He says quietly, and it’s almost like a secret when he says it like that. He looks down at you and you can feel his eye contact even with the barrier of his shades. “Of course I do.” The moment feels too intense, it feels like you’re staring at the sun, and you take his hand again and continue walking to the abandoned seven eleven.

“Do you ever,” you pause, and you can feel his gaze on the back of your neck. “Regret it all?” He pauses, silent as he walks, strides long and quiet even in the rain. You know he’s trying to think of what he considers the correct answer, not necessarily the truthful one. The rain slowly changes from fat thick drops to a slow, relentless, mist of a drizzle.

“No.” He says after some deliberation, and you know he’s lying.

“Really?” You say in disbelief, rounding a corner and finding the family abandoned seven eleven. The seven has mostly fallen off, looking like an ‘L’ now, and it’s littered with trash and animal waste. Weeds sprout from the base of the columns holding up a, now drooping, metal canopy over decrepit gas pumps. You make your way to the too dark back alley, Dirk’s shades are pushed up into his hair like the costume crowns he gets put in. He’s the club’s ‘prince’ after all. He weighs less then you so you crouch holding your hands for him to step in.

“I don’t regret much.” He says stepping into your palms laced together and you begin to lift him. His hands gripping the roof ledge as he gracefully leaps over it, dangling an arm down for you. You take his hand. “Do you?” He pulls you up and you vault onto the hard wet metal. Puddles pool in neat lines alongside the beams that line the rooftop.

“I regret some of it.” The rain seeps into your bones and the cracks of your reality. “Damara and Rufioh.” Dirk settles himself laying back on his back with his arms behind his head, knees bent and legs crossed, on the unbearably cold roof. You sit lotus style beside him.

“The shit with Rufioh kept us alive.” He looks up at the sky and you lean back, your bare lower back against metal making you shiver. The goosebumps make you feel alive.

“I’m sure there would have been other ways to keep us alive.”

“It was the easiest.”

“Did you sleep with him?” His unshaded focus is purely on the sky, attempting to push away the light pollution of the city and see the stars behind it all. Searching desperately for the mythical constellations, for anything to think what he was told was true.

“Does it matter?”

“He was in a relationship.” He pauses, breathes, your eyes skin over his face, he’s still got some glitter on his brow from work today.

“I didn’t mean to hurt Damara, I did what I thought was best for us.”

“Fucking her boyfriend, taking her drugs and for what?”

“So we could have a place to live, so we’d be alive.” He says it coldly, you’re hitting a nerve, you can’t be bothered to care. “You’re the one who took her alcohol.” Low blow, his eyes flick up to you apologetically before he looks back at the sky. Trying to play it off but his shoulders tense.

“She offered.” You say simply, letting the pregnant silence linger painfully as you look out over the city. The drizzling rain seems to freeze everything. You can see the skyline covered in lights, you can make out a McDonald’s sign west of you.

“I don’t regret what I did to keep us alive.” Dirk says, never truly able to let a conversation rest.

“But do you regret what you did to the people you used to keep us alive?” You snip back. His left hand comes to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I,” he cuts himself off, inhales, you know he’s trying to think of the right way to phrase it, never able to speak his mind without first overthinking it, wants to control the outcome of his words, exhales. “Did what I had to.”

“What about Callie?” You say it unapologetically while he flinches almost imperceptibly. You know him too well to miss it. He may preach that it wasn’t his fault, but you know he thinks his own words are bullshit and he has a scar on his chest to prove it.

“That wasn’t- I didn’t-” excuses. “I couldn’t possibly have foreseen those consequences.” His voice is tense, in its own way of course, he’s the master of deadpan. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here Roxy.” Of course he doesn’t, because you’re not trying to accomplish anything. Dirk can’t do anything without an ulterior motive, you’re just prying, you know most of the answers to the questions you’re asking. You decide to ease up on him for his sake, he doesn’t like talking about he and Caliborn’s relationship.

“Do you think you’ve ever been in love?” You say instead, this all too heavy for him, he looks relieved, eyes still tracing the darkness for those hints, that promise of light in the lack thereof.

“Well I love yo-”

“I meant romantically Distri.” You say, flicking his side and making him remove his eyes from the light and look at you. His gaze on you, unshaded, violent citrine eyes, is barely shifted from that he had on the sky, full of reverence.

“I don’t know, Jake maybe.” He shrugs while you attempt not to frown. You wouldn’t tell him but that wasn’t love, that was infatuation, idolization. It’s a bad but frequent habit for him, even to you he does it. Especially to you he does it. “I’m not certain I know what it really feels like.” He pauses” What about you?” You nod, wet blonde hair chafing the back of your neck.

“Probably. John,” elation. “Callie,” regret. “Fef.” hope. He removes one of his hands from behind his head, shaking it because the metal dug into it, you pat your lap. He smiles briefly, blindingly up at you and settles his sopping wet hair in your lap. “And I do love you Dirk.” His eyes flick back to the stars, and lack thereof, while you survey the horizon.

“And I love you Rox, and I’m not apologetic for what I’ve done.” He cuts you off before you can respond. “Because you are alive due to all of it and that makes it all worth it.” There’s a darkness in his tone that anchors you, that scares you. You put your hand on his mouth, don’t let his venom tongue befall you tonight.

“We should get home.” You divert the conversation. “It’s late and we have work tomorrow, I know I have a private show.” He nods and you remove your hand. He climbs off you and holds his hand down to you, you look him in the eyes, trust him and take it.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing a lot of LSPM lately. This one, one about Dirk and Rufioh and Dirk's business with pills, and one about nightmares. So this series shall update eventually. 
> 
> comments and kudos are adored and if you want to hit me up on tumblr i'm on it at Barefootcosplayer


End file.
